You Were Only Waiting
by PenPistola
Summary: Eames' frat buddies realize that he has a crush on Arthur, so they decide to abduct him and give him to Eames as a present. Eames despairs that he's lost all hope for getting together with Arthur, but recovery takes time, and Arthur can't do it alone.
1. Darkest Night

**Title: **You Were Only Waiting**  
Pairing: **Arthur/Eames**  
Total Word Count: **14171**  
Rating:** M for mention of abduction and recurring psychological issues stemming thereof, and sex.**  
Summary: **Eames' douchey frat buddies realize that he has a crush on super-serious grad student Arthur, so they decide to abduct him and give him to Eames as a present. Eames despairs that he's lost all hope for getting together with Arthur, but recovery takes time, and Arthur can't do it alone.  
**A/N: **The title for this chapter, "Darkest Night," is from a song by The Sea and Cake by the same name.

Arthur hadn't expected to spend his Saturday night being fucking _abducted_, but then who the hell did? He recognized the guys holding him with his arms behind his back from the class he was a TA for, so if he got out of this alive, he'd be able to put faces to names. It was dark, and the halogen lights buzzed only dimly, but he could pick them out as the bottom-dweller frat boys who sat in the back row of the lecture hall and thought he didn't notice them sharing porn over facebook chat. They were drunk, obviously—he could smell it on their breath—but still, there were five of them to one of him, and he hadn't been prepared. Mostly Arthur was just fucking annoyed, because really, what could they want with him, but the way one of them was wrenching his arm really hurt, goddammit.

"If you let me the fuck go, right now, we'll just forget about this," he snarled. Of course it was a lie, but it could only get worse for them if it got worse for him, and even frat boys had to have _some_ common sense, right?

But then the group of them began manhandling him over to a van parked at the entrance to the otherwise deserted parking lot, and a thread of something deeper than run-of-the-mill anxiety settled over him. Arthur knew he should yell, knew he ought to do _something_, but his body froze up like it was already resigned to what was going to happen. '_This is not going to end well, is it?_'

"Get the fuck in there, you little pansy-ass," one of them laughed. They were all laughing, like shoving Arthur roughly over the back seat of a piece of shit van was the most hilarious fucking thing in the world. One of them immediately leapt on top of him, sat on the small of his back and began circling Arthur's wrists with duct tape. Another threw his bag in on the floor next to them, thank heaven for small mercies, but there was no way he could reach for his phone now.

"Oh, he'll fucking love this," said somebody from the front seat as the engine turned over and they pulled away, and Arthur wanted to scream, wanted to demand 'who' and 'what the hell are you going to do with me', but the air was crushed from his lungs by the guy on top of him and his shoulders burned, his muscles screamed, and _shit_, fuck all, his eyes were stinging and no, he was _not_ going to fucking cry about this.

"Aww, look, you scared him," the guy on top of him giggled, and finally Arthur was just too fucking exhausted to resist. He'd be humiliated about it later, when he was sure he wasn't going to get killed or raped or branded or whatever the fuck it was frat boys did with grad student TA's who had done nothing whatsoever to deserve this.

At some point Arthur must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew somebody was slapping him lightly in the face, ordering him to wake the fuck up. The exhaustion seeped back into him even as he came to, so he didn't struggle. What was the point? The biggest of them hauled Arthur roughly to his feet, ignorant or uncaring that Arthur's legs were asleep and his feet dragged as they led him into the frat house. His abductors were still laughing, stumbling into the furniture, but they managed to get him into one of the rooms down the hall. It was somebody's bedroom. Arthur felt the fear wash over him again in a sickening wave. _'Fuck'_.

"Take his shirt off," said one of them. "Let's see what he looks like under there."

"_No, please–_"

"You fuckin' idiot, we taped his hands together. We can't get it off."

"Don't untape him, he'll try and get away or punch us or something."

Arthur didn't tell them that he'd lost circulation to his fingers ages ago, and he couldn't even make a fist, much less punch them. But apparently the big guy was the least drunk of them, because he solved the problem easily enough. He flipped open a balisong, grabbed the sleeve of Arthur's t-shirt and slashed the fabric across his chest in one smooth motion. Arthur tried to shrink back, but his knees made contact with the bed and suddenly he was sprawling backwards.

"Whatever, we can leave him there," Big Guy grinned. "You won't go nowhere, will you?" Arthur tried to glare at him, but he figured the effect was ruined by the tears sliding down his cheeks. "No, he won't." Big Guy motioned to the one who'd sat on his back in the van ride. "You, just... pretty him up or something. I'll go get Big D."

And one by one they filed out, until it was just Arthur and 'Fuckface', he called him in his head. Fuckface stumbled around for a bit before coming up with a box of tissues. Arthur's hands were still bound behind his back, so Fuckface wadded up the tissue and dabbed roughly at Arthur himself. Arthur's eyes stared straight ahead at nothing.

"Why am I here?" he finally asked, inflectionless, though he thought he knew the answer. "Who the hell is Big D?"

"You don't get to fuckin' ask questions," Fuckface answered, but after a minute he giggled, as if the secret was just too good to keep. "You're his present. He's always lookin' at you, you know. In class. We figured out he was a faggot because he just wouldn't stop fuckin' staring. So we got you."

"_Got_ me? Yeah, you fucking got me," Arthur whispered. Fuckface finally moved away, leaving Arthur alone in the room and shutting the door behind him. Arthur closed his eyes, shrinking in on himself. This wasn't happening this wasn't happening this wasn't happening, only it _was_, and when he blinked his eyes open again the scene hadn't changed. He swallowed. Maybe it would be over quickly, at least. Maybe 'Big D' wouldn't be too much of an asshole about _raping_ him. He could only hope. And wasn't that fucking sad?

* * *

It was nearly eight by the time Eames got in from the library. He'd been trying to study, but it'd been hard to concentrate on an empty stomach, so finally he gave it up as a lost cause. He could study in his room, maybe, as long as his floormates kept it down—not that he could count on them for that. Of course, this would all happen after he'd made himself something to eat. But he was accosted as soon as he'd walked in the door.

"Big D, man of the night!" Nick crowed, snagging a bewildered Eames by the wrist and dragging him out of the foyer.

"Man of the... wha?" All five of the blokes in his hall were milling around the living room, all of them drunk, judging by the way they were stumbling over each other in their excitement. Clayton threw an arm over his shoulder and breathed right in his face when he said, "We got something to show you, buddy!"

Eames gave a half-hearted laugh. "What is this, boys?" he said good-naturedly, because telling them outright he wasn't interested in whatever idiotic stunt they'd decided to pull this time probably wouldn't go over well.

"Present," said Clayton, still in his face. "We knew how much you wanted him. It. Him."

"Shut the fuck up, Clay, you'll ruin the surprise." Nick jerked Clayton off by the collar of his polo and shoved him backwards.

Something twigged in Eames' head, but he hoped he'd just misheard that. "Wait, what?" he asked in his confusion.

"Man, just go see," Matt grinned. "We went through all that trouble, so you might as well."

Eames shook them all off him, but they followed close behind as he strode down the hall to his room. Eames had never liked most of these blokes, thought they could be a right bunch of idiots most of the time, but even he thought well enough of them that the idea was absurd, that they could have... Something like dread collected in his gut as he reached for the door handle, though. And when he opened the door, suddenly it was a rock, a fucking rock, trying to tear its way out of him.

"What the fuck?" he asked, his voice ascended to higher registers. "What the bloody fucking _fuck_?"

* * *

Arthur's eyes snapped open as soon as he heard the footsteps coming down the hall. There was a new voice, deep and smoky with a London drawl to it. It had to be 'Big D'. Arthur scooted back as best he could, put his back to the wall and drew his legs to his chest. His arms were burning, and his hands had been taped for what felt like an hour now. There was no possible way he could fight back.

Then the door opened and he was locking eyes with David fucking Eames, who sat quietly every day in the front row of class and turned in his papers on time, Eames, who Arthur had once held a friendly conversation with via notes on the rough draft of one of his essays, fucking _Eames_, who was friends with these guys and apparently liked raping TA's for sport. But he seemed shocked about it, maybe as shocked as Arthur, and as Arthur's vision started blacking out around the edges, the last thing he saw was Eames' fist smashing into Fuckface's nose.

Everything was quiet when Arthur came to again, but he wasn't alone. Someone was touching him, somebody was touching—he jerked back, tried to twist away, but he only succeeded in entangling himself in the blanket thrown over his shoulders.

"Hey, hey," came a voice, a familiar smoky drawl, and Eames backed away, hands up in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said placatingly. "I was trying to rub some of the circulation back into your fingers, but I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

Arthur blinked groggily at the close-cropped hair, full lips, wide eyes and eyebrows drawn into a frown and felt himself relax, if only by a hair. "You're not going to...?"

"No," Eames interrupted, before he could finish. "Christ, no." He let his head drop into his hand, and Arthur took the opportunity of Eames' distraction to scoot back an inch or two anyway. Arthur was still in Eames' bed, though the blanket was on him now instead of under him, and he supposed he at least had that to be grateful for. Truthfully, Eames looked pretty tortured about it, but that didn't stop Arthur's heart pounding in his chest.

"Where are the others?" he croaked.

Eames heaved a sigh. "They fucked off after I punched Clayton in the face. I think I might have broken his nose."

Arthur was... confused. "So you didn't ask them to throw me in a van and duct tape my hands together so you could rape me?"

Eames looked shocked again, and it seemed genuine enough. "I would have never, ever—just, no. Not ever." He gave a dry chuckle. "Frankly I'm still surprised _they_ even did it. Though not _too_ surprised." Then his expression turned back to concern. "They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?"

Arthur raised his arm and gave his hand an experimental flex. The fingers still tingled, but he was able to make a loose fist, at least. "No lasting damage," he concurred. But when Eames smiled in relief, he couldn't managed to return it, and they fell silent for a moment.

"We should call the campus police," Eames said finally. "I should have called them as soon as I found out about this, but I decided to wait until I could ask you about it."

Arthur chewed at his lip. Even thinking about it had his heart going again, but the idea of telling the police what had happened had him even more apprehensive. "Okay," he said, "but not just yet. I... don't want to do it from here."

"We could go to the station and tell them in person," Eames offered, and Arthur considered it for a moment before nodding. "I can give them all the names."

"But you," Arthur said as he realized. "You'll get it too. For punching that guy in the face, and probably just for being involved."

Eames gave a sad nod. "Probably. I could lose my scholarship over it, but it doesn't matter. I have to do right by you, because what they did is just. It's not right on so many levels. It's sick. It's just sick."

Eames' gaze moved to the floor and Arthur felt safe enough that he watched him, so obviously battling his emotions, shaking minutely as if he were as afraid as Arthur. Arthur thought back to the notes Eames had written on his papers, the little 'how are you's' and 'what do you think of's' and 'do you like such-and-such band's'. The doodles he'd drawn, of the professor, who no one liked, of the university's chancellor, of Edgar Allen Poe riding a giant raven with Samuel Taylor Coleridge on an albatross. He had a sneaking suspicion, had always had one, that Eames was a good guy.

"I don't want you to lose your scholarship," Arthur said quietly after a moment, and Eames blinked up at him disbelievingly.

"Arthur, you can't not tell the police about this. Even if I lose the scholarship, have to go on probation, what have you, I'll still live. I'll find another way to get the money if I have to."

"Do you like me?" Arthur blurted, before his brain filter had had the chance to catch up with what his mouth was saying. Eames froze, his skin gone pale. Well fuck, now there was nothing to it but to keep going, Arthur supposed. "You wrote me all those notes, and... and the guys. They said they caught you watching me in class." Eames' eyes widened.

"Arthur, I swear I wasn't trying to be a creep," he said frantically. "I've always... but I was just going to ask you if you'd like to get a coffee, that's it. Not _this_."

"It's alright, it's alright, I believe you. I just... wanted to know." Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure what difference it made, really, considering the trauma he'd just been through. But Eames didn't deserve this either. "I'm sorry," he finally offered. "I'll... tell them the truth. That you saved me, that none of this was your idea at all. It may still look bad, but I'll stick up for you anyway."

"You don't have to do that." Eames gave a watery smile.

"This isn't your fault, Eames. You shouldn't be punished for it."

Eames considered a moment. "I'll do whatever it is that you want me to do."

"Help me up, then?" Arthur asked, and both of them held their breath as Eames tentatively stood, then reached a hand to Arthur. Arthur exhaled and took Eames' proffered hand. Eames' grip was steady as he pulled Arthur to his feet. "Thanks."

Arthur looked around him as Eames led him through the silent hallway and out the door, to where the van was missing and Eames' blue Honda sat instead. "Are you going to stay here?"

"They'll understand if I find lodging elsewhere," Eames grumbled. "Besides, I don't think any of us will be allowed."

"Well, good riddance," Arthur chuckled as they got in the car. And Arthur could stand again, and he'd stopped shaking, and his heartbeat had finally resumed a normal pace. He didn't need to keep holding Eames' hand. But he did anyway.


	2. I Will Lay Me Down

**A/N: **The title for this chapter, "I Will Lay Me Down," comes from the lyrics of Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

"I'm sorry, Mr. Eames, but the board won't go back on its decision. There's nothing we can do."

"That's quite alright, thank you," Eames sighed and hung up the phone. He flopped down on his hotel bed, staring up at the patterns in the popcorn ceiling. Even if he hadn't gotten kicked out the fraternity, he wouldn't have spent another night in the frat house. And now, as he'd just been informed, his scholarship had been revoked. Which was just fucking great, but he'd expected as much. It left his future on rather uncertain terms, and that meant calling his _father_.

Annoyed to the point of wanting to kick something, he rolled over and opened his laptop to distract himself. He minimized the news article about what had happened last month, trying not to think about his fuckhole roommates, who had (rightfully) been arrested, and the angry commenters who'd railed for Eames to get the same treatment. Eames wanted not to have to think about it at all, but it seemed like it was everywhere he turned, pervading every aspect of his life. He pulled up facebook, hoping that maybe his Wordscraper partner had finally made a move, something, _anything_ other than the incident, when he saw an item in his feed that piqued his interest.

**Ariadne Kouvas **to **Arthur Solomon**  
Saw this and thought of you. Hope you're feeling okay!

Below was a link to some Youtube video about a Star Wars wedding, but Eames was more concerned with the fact that a mutual friend had just posted on _Arthur's_ wall. Eames moved his cursor over the blue text of Arthur's name and let it hover.

_Arthur_. Eames had debated whether or not to try and contact him in the weeks after the incident, and always he'd decided against it. Eames had gone to class the next day unsure of what to expect, but Arthur hadn't been there in his usual TA position. In fact he hadn't been there since, not in any of the classes Eames had gone to. Eames was sure that Arthur didn't want to see him, that it could only lead to trouble. Why would he wanted to be confronted with the source of his trauma, after all? But checking up on him through facebook was harmless enough. Right? Eames clicked.

There were only a few wall posts from Arthur since he'd been abducted, just a funny Youtube video or two and a half dozen or so Farmville updates, all in the last week. Everything else was from other people; a 'Glad you're okay' and a few 'OMG!' comments. Eames bit his lip. The number of total posts had dropped off sharply after the attack. Maybe Arthur wasn't doing so well, and Eames wondered why. Eames didn't really know Ariadne well enough to try fishing information out of her, and she had to know that he was connected with the attack, however unknowingly it was at the time. No, she'd probably go into protective mode if Eames asked her about Arthur, and he had no desire to deal with the fallout of _that_. So he clicked the 'Send Arthur a Message' link.

'_Hi, it's Eames. You remember me? ...Well, obviously,_' he typed in the message field, and promptly backspaced. '_Hello,_' he tried again. '_I just wanted to check up on you, and see if-_' Backspace. Eames ran a hand through his hair and peered at the screen as if he could see though it. '_Hi, Arthur. I know you'd probably rather not talk to me, but I wanted to ask how you were. I haven't seen you in class lately, and I was just a little worried about you. I hope you're doing okay, and that the damage they did to you on my behalf wasn't permanent. And I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry it happened to you, sorrier than I've ever been. I know that doesn't make things alright, but I hope it helps you to know that I'm thinking about you, and if you ever need a friend..._' The cursor blinked. '.._.I've got your back._'

Eames' pointer hovered between the 'Send' and 'Cancel' buttons. As much as he cared about Arthur, had _always_ cared, ever since that first class, he couldn't let his desire to hear from him cloud his judgment. There was always the possibility that sending Arthur this message could be the worst thing Eames could do. Instead of healing, instead of closure, it could be like ripping the scab off a healing wound. And, as Eames decided, he didn't want to risk that. _Fuck._ He let out a small sigh before clicking the 'Cancel' button.

He went back to his profile, busied himself with changing his profile picture to something wackier and tried not to think about it. He wasn't helping anyone by torturing himself over this, not when he could be spending his time gearing up for the phone call he'd eventually have to make to his father. His father had heard about the incident, of course, and he was none too pleased, so Eames was sure he wouldn't be thrilled about hearing he'd have to take up the slack from the scholarship as well. Eames tried to prepare himself for the arguments his father would use, what tactics Eames would have to employ to get him to agree to paying his tuition.

A tinny 'ping' from his laptop speakers made him jump as he was planning his next move in Wordscraper. His brow furrowed as he glanced down to where a small dialogue box had popped up at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen-and he froze.

'Arthur Solomon has sent you a message.'

Eames trailed the cursor apprehensively toward the box, wondering whether Arthur had somehow _known_ Eames was looking at his profile, or if by some terrible mistake Eames had pressed the 'Send' button instead of 'Cancel'. But he was reasonably sure he hadn't, and there was no way for Arthur to know Eames had been checking up on him. So this message, whatever it was, was out of the blue.

'_Hey_,' read the subject line. How descriptive, Eames thought. His hand shook a little bit as he clicked it to view the rest of the message, and without realizing it, he held his breath as he began to read.

'_It's Arthur. First off, I'd like to apologize for not getting back to you after that night. Things were kind of crazy at first, and then after they'd settled down I felt guilty for not having contacted you sooner, avoided doing anything out of guilt, and then it turned into a vicious cycle of not contacting you and feeling guilty some more. You know how it goes_.' Eames' mouth twitched into a frown at the thought that Arthur would feel like he had to apologize for anything, but he kept reading. '_This may sound out of the blue, but I was... wondering if you'd still like to get coffee with me sometime. Are you free to meet me at the coffee shop in the student union tomorrow at 3_?'

Eames had a class then, but he typed up his response without a second thought. '_I'll be there._'

* * *

Eames had never wished he hadn't left his umbrella at the frat house more fervently than he did now. The rain was coming down in sheets, buffeted to the point that it was nearly falling sideways, and he'd gotten soaked almost immediately after stepping out. He clung to the sides of buildings when he could, under the overhangs (not that it helped) until he finally reached the union. The doorman gave him a rather nasty look when he went in.

"Sorry, mate," he said, shuffled around a bit on the non-slip rubber mat and made his way toward the coffee shop. He was a couple of minutes late, but he'd left early and he didn't expect Arthur to have made it through the rain on time either. When he didn't spot Arthur at any of the tables, he grabbed a few sheets from a discarded newspaper and spread them out on a chair before sitting down. A coffee was out of the question-his hands were shaking as it was.

It wasn't a long wait. He'd only twiddled his fingers for a minute or two before a huddled figure in a navy hoodie trudged in, carrying an umbrella wrapped in a plastic umbrella bag. He looked up, and because Eames had been watching for him all along, they made eye contact immediately. Arthur froze like a deer in the headlights. For a nerve-wracking moment Eames was convinced he'd just run away, but after a second or two Arthur seemed to collect himself. He took a deep breath and slid down into the chair across from Eames'.

There was a moment of silence, during which Eames imagined all the terrible things Arthur could be preparing to launch at him. But all Arthur said was a quiet and shaky, "Hi."

"...Hi," said Eames. The silence came back, but awkward this time. Eames wasn't even sure why Arthur was here, whether to talk to him or berate him, but he realized suddenly that it didn't matter, because he was being rude, and where the hell were his manners? "L-let me get you something," he began babbling. "Coffee? Tea? The croissants here are particularly good."

Arthur held up a hand to stop him. "It's okay, I'm not hungry or thirsty," he said apologetically. "Don't think I could stomach it right now anyway." The corner of his mouth twitched in a small smirk.

"I see," Eames nodded grimly. Oh, this wasn't going well. He could already tell. Maybe Arthur was here for some kind of closure, and of course Eames would give that to him if he could. But afterward, Arthur would be done with him. He'd want to move on with his life, and that probably meant saying goodbye to Eames for good. So Eames couldn't quite manage to feel cheery about it when he asked, "You wanted to talk?"

Arthur looked down, wringing one hand inside the other. He still hadn't taken off the hood of his jacket, and the oversized thing made his already skinny frame look almost impossibly small. Eames wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Arthur's cheek, so he sat on his hand instead.

"Yeah," said Arthur slowly, and rather hesitantly. The hand-wringing intensified a notch. "First off, I guess I wanted to say thank you."

He glanced up, and Eames blinked at him. "_Thank you_?" Eames repeated. "What do you have to thank me for?"

"You know," Arthur hedged, shifting in his chair. "You saved me. You stood up for me, punched that guy in the face, brought me to the police station. You didn't have to do any of that."

Eames felt a thrill of horror run through him that Arthur would be _surprised_ about the things he'd just mentioned. "Of course I did. If I hadn't done any of that, it wouldn't have been, you know, _decent_!"

"Yeah, well. A lot of guys aren't." Eames didn't know what to say to that. Arthur's dark eyes went back to his hands, which were busy picking at one of the napkins. "Thank you for being decent, is what I'm getting at, I guess," he said at length.

"I... you're welcome."

"I uh," Arthur started again, and he sounded curious and a little regretful. "I heard they ended up kicking you out of the fraternity."

Well, it wouldn't do for Eames to lie. "Yeah, they did. They revoked my scholarship, too, but before you apologize," he shot out as Arthur's expression slid toward 'tortured', "it's alright. My family's bloody rich, so they can afford to pay my tuition. I'd hoped to avoid it, but only because my dad's an arsehole. It'll be okay."

"I guess there's that, then," Arthur said morosely, then an unconvincing, "I'm glad."

Another awkward silence. Arthur swallowed, and then whatever it was holding him back seemed to burst in a rush of words. "I haven't been taking this whole thing very well," he said. "The university has been paying for me to go to therapy sessions, and it helps some but I don't really enjoy it. I don't like being that close to someone, spilling my secrets to a stranger, you know? So I've just been internalizing it all, and that hasn't really been working. I've been sitting in my room, not talking to anybody, playing fucking _Farmville_ and thinking about how damn sad my life has gotten. Farmville? Do you know how sad that is?" If he'd expected an answer, he kept going before Eames could think of one. "I keep thinking that I'm alone, that things are never going to get better, and I wanted to know if you... if you still felt the same way about me that you felt before, because I don't want to end up alone forever. I want somebody who's going to care about me. I want somebody I can share all this stuff with, somebody who will listen and not judge me, and maybe be something more, and," he swallowed, "I'm pretty sure I've been rambling for close to a minute by now, and I look like a total idiot, and you're going to say 'no', aren't you-"

Anything else was lost in Eames sudden unbidden laughter. Something in his heart had burst, had overflowed and bubbled its way out of his chest, out of his body altogether until he was beaming and shaking with mirth and affection. "Oh, Arthur," he gasped helplessly as Arthur went ghost white, and then beet red. "Arthur, love, no don't leave. I'm not laughing at you!" He reached out to snag the smaller man's wrist before he could race out of the shop or sink into his chair. "Arthur, you idiot, what I'm trying to say is, that may be the best thing I've heard in all my life. Now please do us both a favor and _kiss me_."

Arthur stilled in wonderment. "You mean... you really feel that way about me? Even after what happened?"

"Arthur," Eames said seriously, his chuckling quieted down. "I have _always_ felt that way about you, and I always will. I've cared about you since I first saw you in Oringa's class, wearing that Muppet Movie t-shirt. I couldn't stop if I tried, not even if I wanted to."

"...Really?" said Arthur doubtfully, though he seemed pleased.

"Yes, really," Eames smiled.

"And you'll stick with me, even though I'm not completely over this? Even if I've still got a ways to go before I'm okay again?"

"Nothing would make me happier than to make you happy. To be by your side, for as long as you want me around. Because I think you're worth it."

"Well, in that case," Arthur grinned, and he stood up out of his chair, leaned over the table and pressed his lips to Eames' in a fierce kiss.

And for all Eames had been asking for it, he _still_ managed to be dumbstruck. But honestly, considering the circumstances, with Arthur's fingers threading into his hair, and Arthur's tongue prodding at his lips for entrance, and Arthur's love in his heart, he decided there were far worse things to be.


	3. The World's a Broken Bone

**A/N:** The title for this chapter, "The World's a Broken Bone (But Melt Your Headaches, Call It Home)" comes from the lyrics of Panic! at the Disco's "Northern Downpour".

Eames leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes—Arthur was late. Not _very_ late, just ten minutes or so past the time they'd agreed to meet up at the restaurant. But unless the circumstances were extenuating, Arthur was usually a picture of punctuality.

The two of them had agreed to take it slow after that scene in the café a couple of weeks ago. As thrilled as Eames was that Arthur wanted him, _needed_ him, Eames knew that rushing things would be a mistake. And at first Arthur had looked dejected at Eames' resolution not to jump straight to sexual physical contact, but it quickly turned to relief. This was what both of them needed. A slow, gentle easing-in period; a couple of coffee dates, a matinee at the movies, and now dinner.

Arthur was now fifteen minutes late.

Eames dug in his pocket for his phone, fingers fumbling as he dialed Arthur's number. He knew he was probably being overly paranoid, but he figured there was nothing wrong with easing his mind. Once he'd heard Arthur's voice and was assured he was okay, Eames could relax. He could hear the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears as the phone rang and rang, five, six times, and then the crackle of the voicemail recording. '_Hey, it's Arthur. I can't get to the phone right now, so just leave me a message and I'll get back to you._' Eames had never heard Arthur's voicemail before.

"Keep the change, love," he said to the bewildered waitress as he got up to leave. She watched him go with a curious air, then shrugged and picked up the ten dollar bill he'd left for his one cooling cup of tea.

Eames had only been to Arthur's apartment building once, to pick him up for the movies, and Arthur had been waiting for him on the balcony. He knocked on the first door he got to, and an elderly woman peered at him through the crack that opened. "I'm looking for Arthur Solomon's flat," Eames explained apologetically, and she pointed him two doors down to number 26. He thanked her profusely and walked the twenty feet to Arthur's door, heart in his throat. He had a bad feeling about this. He took in a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It opened right away, to his great relief, but it was short-lived.

"Arthur, Jesus _Christ_."

Arthur stood still in the doorway, his face pale and his knuckles white against the door frame. His eyes were rimmed in red, and too bright, and the smile he mustered was wan and shaky and frighteningly fake.

"Come in," he said, and Eames obeyed. Arthur locked (and deadbolted, Eames noticed) the door behind them, then brushed past Eames to drop onto his couch. He drew his legs onto the cushion with him and pulled his hands into the long sleeves of his sweater, giving him the appearance of a young child.

Eames didn't dare start accusing him or questioning why he hadn't shown up. Instead he sat gingerly next to Arthur, but a good few inches away, and asked, "Arthur, love, please tell me what's wrong?"

Arthur didn't look at him for a moment, staring at his knees instead. "It's stupid."

Eames felt a pang of irrational anger surge through him that Arthur could treat his feelings like they were that trivial. He bit at his lower lip to calm himself and very cautiously reached out to put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur flinched at the contact at first, but he didn't move away, and after a second or two he leaned into it.

"Arthur, please," Eames said gently. "I promise I won't think any less of you."

Arthur finally turned to him and made eye contact for one brief moment. "I don't know how to explain it," he said slowly, as if he were numb. "I'll be perfectly fine during the day. If I think about it, I'll start to get nervous, but it's easy to distract myself. But at night... I don't know. It's pathetic. I start shaking and crying and I don't know why. I can't... I can't even go check my mail or put out the garbage. It's like, logically I _know_ nothing's going to happen to me, but..."

"Oh, _Arthur,_" Eames rushed, cutting off whatever else Arthur was going to say. He reached out with his other arm, took Arthur by the shoulders and after asking permission with his eyes, pulled the smaller man into a hug. Arthur leaned into him with something like a sob, burying his face into Eames' t-shirt.

"I don't know, I don't know," he coughed, and now he was definitely crying; Eames could feel the wet patches he left on his chest. "I thought I could do it, I thought I could make myself go to dinner tonight, because it's you. But I—I couldn't. And I couldn't call you either, I was too ashamed to have to explain to you that...that I was fucking _scared_. I just..."

"Shh, love," Eames said into Arthur's hair, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles on his back. He could feel himself breaking along with the smaller man, but it was Eames' job to be steady, constant, reassuring. He could do that. He could muster his strength to hold them together. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere." Slowly, like coaxing a bud to open to the daylight, Eames could feel Arthur relaxing in his arms. His breathing evened out, his tremors subsided and for what felt like five minutes they just sat there holding each other.

"Sorry," Arthur finally said. He pulled away and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Sorry?" Eames chuckled incredulously. "Arthur, you've got nothing whatsoever to be sorry for. It's me who ought to be sorry. If I'd have known, if I'd bothered to _ask_, I wouldn't have invited you out after dark. I _never_ want to cause you pain."

Arthur looked at him then, swallowed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he thought he wanted to smile but wasn't quite sure how. "You... you wouldn't be mad if I said I wanted to order takeout then?"

Eames beamed. "Sounds divine. But remember, still my treat."

He shifted to get up, since his wallet was in his back pocket, but Arthur caught him by the wrist. "Wha-" he started, but then Arthur was kissing him, chaste and shy but growing in confidence. Eames settled back onto the couch with him and contented himself with letting Arthur call the shots, pleased and surprised when Arthur's tongue prodded him for entrance. Eames' eyes had dropped shut and he'd begun panting by the time they broke apart. "Bloody hell, Arthur, what was that bit of loveliness for?"

"I...just... Thank you," he said softly, and kissed the corner of Eames' mouth.

By a couple of hours later, they'd finished their dim sum and settled against one another to watch a Mel Brooks movie marathon. Arthur's eyes were glued to the flickering screen, but Eames was mostly watching Arthur, smiling at the way he mouthed silently along with the lines.

"A chastity belt?" he said soundlessly. "That's going to chafe my willy!" He grinned a little, then glanced over at Eames self-consciously, as if he could feel the weight of his gaze. Their eyes met, and Arthur looked surprised, like he didn't know how to react. Then he turned away again, but the smile was back, along with a faint pink flush along his cheekbones. His fingers slid along the suede of the couch cushion, then over to brush against Eames' hand. Eames flipped the hand over, palm up, and their fingers laced together. It was nice. It was warm. But it was also verging on one in the morning, and Arthur was blinking an awful lot.

"It's getting late," Eames said gently when stereo clock blinked one. Arthur stirred and looked up at him, questioning. "I don't want to keep you up."

"Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?" Arthur murmured.

"Mm? No, not really, far as I know."

"Then would you... stay?"

Eames felt something inside him swell in fondness at the way Arthur looked tentative, but hopeful nonetheless. It radiated through him until he couldn't even pretend to hide his smile. "Do you want me to?"

Arthur grimaced, as if he were embarrassed about it, but he let out a quiet, "Yes."

"Then I'd be glad to."

The smile was still there on Eames' face, but he knew he couldn't cock this up, so he forced himself not to look too giddy. He'd let Arthur take the lead here. Sure enough, Arthur snagged the remote and turned off the TV. His other hand was still laced with Eames', and when he stood, he tightened his grip and pulled Eames with him. Eames stayed quiet as Arthur led him from the living room and into his bedroom.

Eames nearly forgot to be surprised by the move, forgot to ask Arthur if this was really alright when Arthur flicked the bedroom lights on. He'd clearly never grown out of 'dorm mode', and it showed. The walls were covered in posters for bands and art prints, and there was plenty Eames recognized; The Strokes, She & Him, Pink Floyd's _The Wall_, Arcade Fire, Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ and Edward Hopper's _Nighthawks_. There was no overhead light, just a ceiling fan, so Arthur had hung the room with white string lights instead. Every inch of available wall space under the posters was occupied by cheap, particle board shelving, bowed under the weight of books upon books. The place was neat, but as Eames had observed, dorm-like.

"This is..." Eames started.

"Shut up, I know. When I'm out of here, not all of my furniture will come from Walmart." Arthur flopped down on the bed, launching a textbook that had been at the foot of it to the floor. Eames picked it up—it was the textbook for Oringa's class, the one Arthur had been a TA for before being attacked. He swallowed.

"I'm going back next week," Arthur said softly. He took the textbook from Eames' hand and reached to set it on the nightstand. "I've talked to my advisor about it. The weeks I missed, they're not going to count against me. I'll finish out the semester like normal."

Eames felt himself frowning. "You're sure it's not too soon?"

Arthur looked at him, and his gaze was steady. "There have been things I've misjudged, I admit it. But I know what I want." And suddenly Eames got the sense that they weren't talking about being a TA at all.

Eames was sitting on the corner of the bed before he'd realized it. Arthur reached out for him, grabbed ahold of his shoulders and shifted himself into Eames' lap. Eames' eyes fluttered closed as Arthur's hands ran over him, down his biceps, across the expanse of his chest, tangled in his hair.

"I want _you_."

Kissing someone shouldn't have been allowed to get amazingly, mind-blowingly better every time you did it, but Arthur was a rule-breaker, it seemed. He kissed Eames like the world could fall down around them at any moment, like this, them together, was the last vestiges of a dream he was trying to hold onto.

"Eames," he said into the larger man's mouth, and he hooked his arms around Eames' neck and leaned back. The momentum carried them until Eames was over Arthur on the bed. He braced his knee between Arthur's thighs and pushed, grinding into him as he resumed exploring Arthur's insides with his tongue. His hands slid up, found Arthur's, pressed him into the mattress and... And then Arthur wasn't kissing him back.

Eames pushed himself up, alarmed. Something in Arthur's eyes was a bit too wild, and his mouth was slack with shock. "Arthur?"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Arthur breathed. He sat upright, rubbing at his temple. The lines of tension eased slowly from his body until he was left looking mildly ruffled rather than terrified. "It's just... When my hands were pinned and I couldn't move, it reminded me of..."

Eames' eyes widened in horror. "Oh Arthur, I'm so stupid. I'm sorry, I didn't even think-"

"N-no, don't apologize," Arthur cut him off. He sighed and moved to rest a hand on Eames' shoulder. "There's no way you can foresee everything that's going to trigger me. We'll... trial and error. You'll see," he smiled, as though he could see the doubt still lurking behind Eames' eyes.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Arthur grinned. "And, ah, to be honest, there's something I want to try."

Eames chewed at his lip. Now _there_ was a thought. "How about this?" he asked, and lay back on the bed passively. "You take control, and I respond physically if, when and how you want me to." He watched as Arthur's eyes raked over his body, watched the gears turning in his head as he contemplated what he might do with an Eames entirely at his mercy. The smaller man shifted, flush gone up to his ears.

"That... that might work, yeah."

Eames settled into the duvet, making himself comfortable. The way Arthur was looking at him, hungry and wondrous and a little shy all at once, was thrilling. Arthur reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the hem of Eames' t-shirt. Eames understood and shifted himself so that Arthur could push the article up over his stomach. Obviously Eames dressed himself every day, but it felt different when it was someone else facilitating the slide of fabric on his skin. His abs twitched involuntarily and Arthur smirked down at him. Eventually Eames had to help, and he pulled the shirt the rest of the way over his shoulders and head. He moved to fling it off onto the floor but Arthur caught it, folding it quickly and setting it down beside him. Eames raised an eyebrow in askance but Arthur just put a finger to his lips. He knelt down on either side of Eames' hips and lowered himself until he was straddling the larger man.

"Nngh, Arthur," Eames groaned, and his arms moved up to stroke Arthur's sides, but Arthur caught him by the wrist before he could make contact.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I need time to explore."

Eames wasn't sure what part of him warranted exploring, but he gave an easy shrug. "Fair 'nuff."

Arthur grinned and bent down low to breathe feathery exhalations against the ink below Eames' collarbone, before swiping his tongue across the skin. '_Oh_.' He nosed across the expanse of Eames' chest, down to one nipple, his hands stroking the tattoos on Eames' arms and shoulders. Eames' breath was already coming in panting gasps, and there was no possible way he could have stifled the moan he let out when Arthur took the sensitive nub of flesh between his teeth.

"Arthur, Jesus Christ," he bit out. His body was doing things without his permission, like arching under Arthur's weight, and _dammit_, he was hard. Arthur worried the nipple a bit, then released it, running his tongue around it as if to soothe the skin. Eames wondered if Arthur would move to the next one, but instead he rocked back a bit, grinding against Eames' erection. Eames sucked in a breath, and he caught a glimpse of Arthur cackling deviously before he pulled his sweater over his head. Suddenly they were bare chest to bare chest, and the _warmth_ coming off Arthur's body was incredible. Eames couldn't help his hands moving to run over the smooth planes of Arthur's shoulders and down his sides, but this time Arthur was unresisting, shuddering into the touch. The last time Eames had seen Arthur like this, he'd been huddled into a ball on Eames' bed, haunted and terrified. This version of Arthur was completely different—confident, though a little shy, affectionate and strong. Whatever the setbacks, Eames knew they could make it, long as they stood by each other. And Arthur seemed to sense the emotions welling up in Eames' chest, for he moved up the larger man's body and locked their lips in the tenderest kiss Eames had ever been given.

"Eames," he whispered as he chewed on Eames' lip, and his voice broke. His dark eyes wandered, as if he wasn't quite sure how to vocalize his feelings. "Eames, I think I... I think I'm in love with you." And even he seemed surprised by the revelation, but he couldn't do much to act on it when Eames was suddenly kissing the breath out of him. Eames wanted to say that he absolutely returned the sentiment, but he couldn't find it in him to break away, not when Arthur's hands were tangling in his hair and stroking his jaw. He figured the message was clear enough anyway.

Finally Arthur pulled back enough to look Eames in the eye. "I want to do something for you," he said softly. He used the hand he wasn't bracing himself upright with to stroke Eames through his jeans.

Eames groaned at the touch, but he caught Arthur's meaning well enough even through the fog of pleasure. "Are you sure?" asked his traitorous lips.

"Yeah," Arthur smiled shyly, and Eames thought maybe he should offer protest, that it was too soon, but seeing as how Arthur's nimble fingers were already tugging at his fly, he couldn't be bothered. He didn't quite know what to do with himself, so he just watched Arthur tug his jeans down over his ass. He could feel Arthur's hands on him, pulling him out of his boxers, tugging experimentally at his foreskin and smiling at the easy glide of it. But no, this couldn't be real. There was no possible way Eames was in Arthur's bedroom, on Arthur's bed with his pants around his knees, about to...

"Oh, _fuck_." The gleam in Arthur's intense, dark eyes and the wet velvet heat of his mouth around the head of Eames' cock were _definitely_ real. His entire body went boneless and he fell back against a pillow and shuddered. It looked as if Arthur were actually enjoying himself. With every little involuntary noise Eames made, the smaller man hummed around his cock. His technique was a little amateur, a thought which inspired fondness (and something strangely like glee) in Eames' heart, but damn if it wasn't the most amazing fucking blowjob he'd ever had. He could feel his balls tightening already, and then Arthur went right ahead and swallowed his cock down to the root.

"Shit, Arthur, I'm gonna–" And he tried, he really tried to get Arthur off his dick before he came, but it was too late. His hand fell slack beside him on the bed, his eyes dropped closed due to the fireworks going off behind them, and _shit_, Arthur was going to be mad at him, wasn't he? He was still trembling from the aftershocks and wondering how he could apologize when the bed dipped beside him under Arthur's weight.

"Salty," Arthur said almost conversationally, and Eames could have sworn he didn't sound mad at all. In fact, when Eames opened his eyes, Arthur was smiling and leaning in for a kiss. Eames normally hated to taste himself, but in this instance salty was good, yes, salty was _very good_. "I've... never done that before, you know."

"Could have fooled me," Eames grinned. "And I mean that in the best possible way."

Arthur quirked a brow, but he looked pleased with himself. "I'll take your word for it."

There was a long moment of silence, during which Eames recuperated and Arthur stroked at his hair, thinking, and then Arthur said quietly, "Do you maybe want to... try... sex?"

Eames glanced up in surprise, to see Arthur's gaze averted and the tips of his ears gone pink. And really, Eames wouldn't have been averse to the idea except that in that moment, Arthur looked so small, so unsure. He let out a chuckle.

"Arthur, love, you've already gone and given me the most incredible blowjob of my life." Arthur's eyes darted in his direction in confusion, and Eames smiled and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear. "We don't have to rush things if you're uncomfortable. And it's alright to be uncomfortable; I'm perfectly fine waiting till you're actually ready. We'll get there another time, yeah?"

"So... you're really not mad?" The doubt creasing his brow was nothing short of heartbreaking.

"I promise you, I'm not." Eames put all the reassurance he could into the words, zipped himself back up, and then rolled off the bed.

"But you're going."

"Not yet," Eames said, and he took Arthur by the hips and pulled him until he was sitting balanced on the edge of the mattress.

"Then what are..." The rest of the sentence trailed off as Eames got on his knees between Arthur's legs. "Wha?"

"We may be saving the actual sex for later," Eames grinned up at him, "but a gentleman _always_ reciprocates."

"O-oh..."

Eames kept his eyes on Arthur the whole time he applied his (rather prodigious, in his opinion) skills, watching the way his head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat, the way his fingers twitched in Eames' hair when he worked him just right, and Eames thought he'd never get enough of it. Arthur gasped Eames name as he came, and Eames swallowed harder than was necessary, because his throat was tightening for more reasons than the obvious. This is what Arthur deserved—not to be abused, but to have someone take care of him, do the things that made him happy, love him unconditionally. And Eames was privileged, _honored_ to be that person.

"Eames," Arthur said again, soft, like his voice was about to break. Eames stood, pulling a sleepily smiling Arthur to him and holding him close. Arthur buried his nose in the crook of Eames' neck and shoulder, just breathing him in. If Eames could have paused that moment forever, he might have, but then the alarm clock on Arthur's night stand beeped two, and he realized Arthur was swaying against him.

"Sleep," Eames murmured into Arthur's hair.

He felt the brush of Arthur's eyelashes as he blinked against him, and then, "Sleep with me?"

Eames tried to hide the touched surprise and the way his heart fluttered when he said, "You really do want me to stay?"

Arthur made an adorably snuffly noise in the affirmative against him, then bent down to tug at Eames' jeans again.

"Well, alright then."

They tucked in together, Arthur nestled comfortably against Eames' back with an arm thrown around his waist. Arthur was asleep in seconds—Eames could tell by the way the breath feathering against his shoulder evened out—but Eames wasn't quite able to fall asleep yet. He glanced at the textbook on the nightstand, dimly illuminated by the red of the alarm clock display. There was a piece of torn-off paper sticking out from between the pages. Eames wasn't usually one for invasion of other people's privacy, least of all his boyfriend's, but he recognized the handwriting on the edge as his own. He reached out and tugged cautiously at it, and the slip of paper came free.

There was just enough light from the alarm clock and from the streetlight sneaking through the venetian blinds that he could make out a note he'd written to Arthur in class one day.

'_No shit, you like Jamiroquai too? I thought I'd have to change my name if anybody found out. Arthur, why are we not best friends already?_'

Only, that wasn't the end of it. There was more at the bottom, a reply in Arthur's neat all-caps print. A note he'd never given back to Eames, for whatever reason.

'_MAYBE BECAUSE I WANT TO BE MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS_.'

Eames stared at the note for a while, unsure of what to make of it before finally settling on plain contentedness. Some part of him had been waiting this whole time to wake up, to find that all of it had been a dream, but Arthur was warm against him and the scrap of paper in his hand was testament enough that he hadn't made the whole thing up. He slipped the paper back under the cover of the textbook and settled against a softly snoring Arthur.

"I love you too," he whispered in the quiet darkness of the room.

Arthur mumbled something against the back of his neck, still entirely asleep, but it sounded happy.


	4. You Were Only Waiting

**A/N: **The title for this chapter comes from the Beatles' song "Blackbird".

Nobody had ever said that terrifying things couldn't come in small packages, and Ariadne Kouvas fit that description to a 'T'. She barely reached Eames' shoulder, but her glare was enough to send his testicles shrieking back into his body.

"Nice to see you," he tried, while Arthur puttered around in his bedroom. "It's been a while since we had that class together."

Ariadne's expression remained vaguely threatening. When she spoke, it was low enough that only Eames would hear. "Listen, English. I don't really know you well enough to say whether you're a good guy or an asshole, so I will reserve judgment until such time as I do. Now, I know you've been dating for a month, and during that time Arthur has had only good things to say about you. But if you ever–" she jabbed a finger into his chest, "if you _ever_ do a thing to hurt him, I will castrate you. With a butter knife. Are we clear?"

"Clear as a glass of flat Sprite," Eames gulped, and just like that, Ariadne's frown morphed into as sunny and cheerful a smile as he'd ever seen.

"Great. I think I like you!"

The scene onto which Arthur emerged from his bedroom was Ariadne with her arm slung around Eames' waist and acting for the world as if they'd been best friends for years. "You don't know how much it means to me that you guys get along," he beamed. "Are you almost ready to go?"

"Y-yeah," Eames said uncertainly. He glanced down at Ariadne, but she was just smiling placidly and adjusting her purse on her shoulder. Maybe the sunniness wasn't feigned, but neither was her protectiveness. The duality left Eames a little bewildered, but he supposed he didn't mind it. After all, if he were her he'd probably feel the same way.

Things were good, if a little awkward, until they actually got to the door.

"Hold on a sec, I forgot something," Arthur said suddenly, then turned and made a beeline back to his bedroom. Eames watched with a curious tilt to his head, until something clicked, and then he glanced at Ariadne. Her expression was thoughtful, the corners of her mouth turned down as she chewed on her lip.

"Do you think he's lying?" Eames asked.

"Yeah," she murmured, and she sounded a little sad. "It's been the same way every time I try to get him to go out after dark. He'll make excuses because he doesn't want to admit he's scared. He probably thought it'd be easier for him with both of us here, but he overestimates himself sometimes."

"He does." Eames fidgeted, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, uncertain about whether he should go try and talk to Arthur. He couldn't hear anything from the bedroom, though the door had been left ajar, and an image of Arthur sitting at the end of his bed with his head in his hands came to mind unbidden. Eames let out a sigh. "Maybe you should go see if he's okay," he said. It hurt a little, but Ariadne was right—she'd known Arthur for far longer, and if anyone should comfort him, it was her. She was his best friend, after all. But Ariadne turned to Eames, a knowing tilt to her smile.

"No, you go," she prompted. "I'm just his friend. It's _you_ he loves."

Despite the fact that she was still a little terrifying, Eames thought he might like her, too.

Eames knocked on the door frame, but there was no immediate answer, so he took a careful step in. The room was dark but for the light coming in from the hall. He could just barely make out Arthur's silhouette, seated on the end of the bed like in Eames' head.

"Hey," Arthur said, and thankfully his voice was steady. Eames sat down beside him, the dip in the mattress sending him leaning into Eames' shoulder.

"Are you alright, love?" He was unsure of how to tread and not upset his boyfriend, but Arthur seemed at least somewhat calm.

"I'm alright," he sighed. "I'm... I'm just sorry I worry you guys all the time. I really did think tonight would be different."

"Arthur, what have I told you about apologizing," he admonished gently, and Arthur let out a little laugh.

"Yeah, yeah." He paused for a minute, and though Eames couldn't see him, he could feel the tension in his slender body. "You don't... think I'm a coward, do you?"

It wasn't the first time Eames had considered homicide toward his former frat buddies (fratricide?), but for Arthur's sake he restrained himself. Instead, he turned Arthur to him and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "Arthur," he said, "I don't know that I've ever been more serious than I am when I say that you're the bravest person I know."

Arthur made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, but he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Eames' middle anyway. "Thanks."

They stayed that way for a moment, Arthur's nose buried into Eames' shoulder, until Eames' sharp hearing caught Ariadne fiddling with Arthur's knickknacks in the living room. "Did you want to just order in?" he prompted gently. "Neither of us would mind."

Arthur lifted his head and leveled his ever-steady gaze at Eames, eyes glinting in the dark. "No. I'm going out with you tonight."

Eames opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur pushed himself off the bed in one abrupt movement, striding purposefully out the door and down the hall.

"Feeling better?" Ariadne asked as Eames trailed after him in a state of total bewilderment. Arthur nodded and marched right up to the door, hands open in invitation. Ariadne took one of them, and Eames rushed to take the other.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, almost pleading Arthur to reconsider. "You shouldn't rush–"

"I'm sure," Arthur said simply, and that was that. He took a deep breath, and when Eames turned the door handle, they stepped outside.

Arthur gripped his hand tightly as they made their way down the stairs to the parking lot. Eames and Ariadne both kept glancing at him nervously, like he might break down at any moment, but Arthur expression read nothing but resolute and determined. They made it to Eames' car without incident, Eames and Arthur in the front seats and Ariadne in the back, where she could still hold Arthur's hand and try and massage the tension out of his shoulders.

"Alright?" Eames asked him when he was buckled in.

Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long, soft sigh. His right hand was still gripping what Eames lovingly called the 'oh shit' handle above his head, but otherwise he was relaxed. "I'm okay." And then he smiled a bit, out of relief, Eames suspected, that maybe this was a sign he was getting better after all.

Dinner was take-out curry from the drive through at the restaurant down the street ("baby steps, Arthur"), and after that a movie at the indie theater on campus. They ate in the car while they waited for the previous movie to end, laughing at Ariadne's stories of Arthur from long before Eames had met him ("Ariadne, if you don't _shut up_ I will end you") and Eames' frighteningly good impressions of Dr. Oringa, for whose class Arthur was TA. Arthur flinched every time a street light flickered, but Eames and Ariadne were there in an instant, gripping his hand or kissing his cheek. Between the two of them, they kept Arthur pleasantly distracted. Arthur had picked the movie, something terribly fucking hipster that Eames would have fun ragging on him about for _days_, but it wasn't that bad. Arthur sat sandwiched between them, alternating between snagging Eames' popcorn and Ariadne's Sour Patch Kids, and they both stole sips of his drink.

When they went to leave, Eames moved to lace his fingers with Arthur's but Arthur pulled away. Eames raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and Arthur just smiled in return. "You know I appreciate it, but I have to try this. Just watch my back, okay guys?"

"Always," Ariadne said instantly, and Eames gave a quick, jerky nod. They followed behind him as he made his way toward Eames' blue Civic, Eames surreptitiously sneaking a hand in his pocket to press the 'unlock' button on the remote before Arthur could get to the door and panic about being locked out. If Arthur's footsteps increased a little in speed as he neared the safety of the car, none of them mentioned it.

He gave a breathy little laugh when they'd buckled in again. "That should _not_ have been as nerve-wracking as it was," he said, but Eames couldn't detect any real bitterness in the words, just anxious exhilaration.

"It's alright, Arthur," Ariadne smiled from the back seat. "For what happened to you, tonight you were pretty damn fearless." She dug her fingers into Arthur's shoulders and he let out a strangled moan. Eames felt a pang of regret at Ariadne's words, as he always did when he was reminded of why Arthur was like this. He did not in any way feel jealous that Ariadne was the one coaxing such pleasant sounds out of his boyfriend. At all.

Ariadne came up with them to Arthur's apartment, and she put on a pot of the PG Tips Eames had bought while Arthur toed off his shoes. It was eleven before she got up to leave, the tea (damn good, as Eames had been forced to admit) cooling in dark rings at the bottom of their mugs. She gave Arthur a long hug, stroking his hair as she whispered in his ear to take it easy, and call her if he needed anything. Eames half expected Ariadne to walk out the door after that, but she approached him instead, looking up at him with a quirky half-smile.

"I didn't know what to think of you at first," she said, "considering everything that happened and knowing you were a part of it, however unwilling." Eames tried not to flinch, but she didn't sound accusing, just frank. "But after really getting to know you?" She stood on her tiptoes and gave an astonished Eames a kiss on the cheek. "I approve."

"Thank... you?" he said, running a finger over the skin where her lips had touched him as she retreated through the door.

"Yeah, don't mention it," she grinned. "And remember what I said." Eames blanched as she pantomimed sawing on his testicles with a butter knife. She cackled all the way down the stairs until Eames had closed the door.

Arthur was chuckling when Eames turned back to him. "She's something, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's _something_," Eames agreed, and it came out a little bit fond.

Arthur snagged the mugs off the end table and moved to toss them in the sink. Eames watched him from near the door, unsure if Arthur meant for him to go too. He stood in place as Arthur washed each mug, dried them and hung them on the mug rack. "What are you doing?" Arthur finally said, after he'd finished and started to shrug off his t-shirt.

"I—I, uh," Eames started, shifting his weight in awkward confusion. "I wasn't sure if you were waiting for me to... to leave."

Arthur planted a hand on his hip and looked at him as if he were a particularly wrongheaded and amusing child. "Did I _ask_ you to leave, Mr. Eames?"

"Well... no?" Eames blinked.

"Exactly," Arthur grinned, and he closed the distance between them in one long stride. He closed his arms around Eames' waist, and Eames could feel the heat of him even through his shirt. Arthur's body was lean but solid, strong in a way that Eames found it too easy to forget about when they weren't together like this. But tonight had proved it to him, more than anything else. Arthur was the strongest person he'd ever met. "Now come with me."

Eames tried not to be too elated when Arthur broke away to lead him by the hand to his bedroom. It had never ceased amazing him that Arthur wanted him at all, let alone felt comfortable being in a sexual relationship. Up until now, Arthur had been content with doing any number of various things in the bedroom but always stopping shy of sex. Tonight he seemed different, determined in a way that sent thrills up Eames' spine. When they moved through the door into Arthur's still-dark bedroom, Eames felt Arthur's hands plant themselves on his shoulders and shove. He let out a cry as gravity shifted, and then he was bouncing onto Arthur's bed. "Somebody's anxious," he breathed as Arthur flipped on the string lights and crawled on top of him to straddle him.

"Just call it relief," Arthur mouthed into his neck. "I... I didn't want to be broken forever." Eames' heart tried to clench at the earnestness of Arthur's words, but Arthur didn't give him the chance. He was insistent, but gentle too, trailing kisses up the side of Eames' jaw to the spot behind his ear that had him arching up into Arthur's body. Eames started to ask what Arthur was doing, but the smaller man shushed him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you," he whispered. Eames felt his chest constrict like somebody was squeezing the air from his lungs.

"_Arthur,_" Eames breathed, hitching his knee between Arthur's thighs. Arthur's fingers tangled in his hair to pull Eames closer, where he chewed on Eames' lower lip and drew his tongue into his mouth. The shyness Arthur had touched him with in the beginning had evaporated, leaving behind a more confident man that knew how to turn Eames' insides to jelly. Even at the darkest times, Arthur was so full of life, and Eames' skin seared where they touched, his lips tingled and his heart sped in his chest. Arthur's hands moved blindly between them to tug at the hem of Eames' shirt. There was a brief moment where they were forced to break the kiss, and then the shirt was over Eames' head and their tongues were doing battle again. Arthur ground languidly into him, his cock rubbing at Eames' through the fabric of their jeans. Eames moaned into Arthur's mouth and Arthur pulled back to look him in the eye.

"I want you to fuck me," he said, open and candid and perfectly serious.

Eames felt his breath catch in his chest. His body was literally aching—if he thought he'd been hard before, he was throbbing with it now—but even so, some part of him was alarmed. "Arthur, love. I don't mean to be patronizing, but is it wise to push yourself so far in one day?"

Arthur's lips quirked into a smile, dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he pressed his forehead to Eames'. "It's thanks to you that I'm getting better all the time, David." He leaned in further and nosed at the corner of Eames' jaw, grinding himself a little harder into his cock and making him suck in a breath. Arthur's fingers wandered to stroke the fine hairs at the back of Eames' neck, and though Eames could physically sense himself being disarmed, Arthur was right. This decision was his alone to make. "I want this."

"Okay," said Eames shakily. He shifted himself so that he was lying on his side next to Arthur and ran his hand tentatively over Arthur's crotch. He moaned into the touch, his hands fumbling over Eames' to tug at the fly of his jeans. Eames gently pushed the hands away, and Arthur looked at him curiously. '_Let me make this something special_,' he thought but didn't say, and Arthur somehow understood. He stretched his arms above his head, fingers curled lightly, giving Eames permission to proceed as he would.

Eames leaned forward, let his fingers skate over Arthur's sides, over his flat belly, and his warm breath followed. Arthur twitched beautifully beneath him at the barely-there contact. With a smirk, Eames took the zipper of Arthur's jeans in his teeth and pulled, exposing him to the air.

"No undies?" Eames growled under his breath, more turned on than he was willing to admit.

"I may have had something like this in mind." Arthur's voice was low and delicious, the syllables stretched out like taffy. The admission alone was enough to make Eames' hips jerk into Arthur's thigh, and the smaller man bit back laughter. Eames recovered from the surprise quickly enough, and with Arthur's help he tugged off jeans and socks until Arthur was completely naked. Arthur looked up at him from where he was spread out on the bed, a little unsure.

"Quit worrying, love," Eames hummed as he leaned in to kiss him. "You're beautiful." Arthur let out a soft sigh at that, and his arms came up to stroke across Eames' shoulders and down his sides. Eventually they reached Eames' fly, and Eames hung his head, shivering on his hands and knees above Arthur as he undid Eames' jeans and pulled them down over his ass.

"It's only fair," Arthur smiled, and Eames agreed. He kicked the jeans off the rest of the way and pressed himself down, his body a warm, heavy weight over Arthur's. His skin thrummed and sang where they touched, where their cocks rubbed. Arthur writhed a little, a near-silent "Please" working its way out his throat and sending shudders down Eames' body. "I-in my bag."

Eames was loath to look away from his boyfriend, even for a second, but he leaned over the side of the bed and found the bag in question. Eames wasn't _quite_ sure what he was looking for until he found it—a small, unopened bottle of lube and a handful of the free condoms the student government gave out on weekends.

"Banana-flavored?" Eames chuckled. Arthur was flushed red when he'd hauled himself back up.

"It was all they had," he explained. "And, well, I was too embarrassed to go buy condoms _and_ lube."

"You're bloody adorable," Eames grinned, and though Arthur glared at him, there was no heat behind it. He moved in anyway to kiss the furrow between Arthur's brows until it disappeared. "Now. Let me do this right for you."

Arthur gave a jerky little nod. He was trying to be casual, but Eames knew better. Arthur had never done this before, and Eames... well, he had. But rather than be ashamed of his past, Eames thought it more productive to put it to good use. He stroked a hand up Arthur's thigh while his other unscrewed the cap on the lube, and he pulled off the foil safety seal with his teeth. "Relax, love. And promise me you'll tell me the moment you feel uncomfortable."

"You won't break me," Arthur insisted, but he still shivered a bit when Eames prodded his legs apart with a gentle touch.

"I know," Eames assured him, and then he leaned forward and took Arthur's cock in his mouth.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers clenching in the comforter. "Wha–what are you doing?" he asked, but then Eames answered his question as one slicked finger began probing softly at his entrance. Eames glanced up at Arthur, saw his dark eyes trained toward the ceiling and darting back and forth. He stilled the motions of his fingers, concentrating on the slide of Arthur's cock in his mouth, running his tongue over all the little places he'd learned the smaller man liked to be touched or stroked. He felt Arthur relax a bit at the ministrations, his breath deep and even with only the occasional hitch. When he'd relaxed enough Eames proceeded, pushing in his middle finger to the knuckle. The distraction seemed to be working, as it went in easily. Eames made an encouraging noise around Arthur's cock and carefully pushed in a second finger. Arthur writhed a bit while Eames felt around, but when Eames found what he was looking for, his whole body juddered and went slack. "What the hell was that?" Arthur grunted. "Jesus _Christ_. Is that...?"

"The prostate," Eames answered, dropping Arthur's cock from his mouth, "and the reason I personally believe that whatever deity _is_ out there doesn't have anything at all against gay sex."

"Alright, alright, just don't stop."

Arthur tried to wriggle against Eames' hand and he chuckled, nosing at Arthur's erection. "Fine, you glutton." He pushed his ring finger in, stroking Arthur's prostate over and over and feeling himself grow harder every time Arthur shuddered at the pleasure of it. He pressed his face into Arthur's belly and swiped his tongue through the precome pooling on his skin.

"I'm ready," Arthur choked out suddenly, and though Eames had wanted to take this more slowly, his body agreed. He carefully withdrew his hand, soothing Arthur through the loss, trailing the fingers of his other hand along Arthur's body in wonderment that this was actually happening. That despite everything that had happened, Arthur really wanted him, wanted _this_.

Arthur was touching him all over with equal reverence, at peace and sure of himself in a way he hadn't been a few moments before. "Come here," he smiled, and then pulled gently on Eames until they were stretched out on the bed, Arthur's back to Eames' chest. Eames wrapped his arms around the smaller man, burying his nose in Arthur's shoulder.

"You want it like this?" he mouthed into Arthur's neck. Arthur's response was to push back against him, drawing a moan out of him at the friction. It seemed a good and decisive enough answer. Rolling the condom on was torture, just the _idea_ of what was about to happen nearly overwhelming. He nudged at Arthur's thighs a bit until they were parted, pushing one of his legs forward and up toward his chest. Eames fit the length of his own body alongside him and drew Arthur's smaller form close. It seemed more intimate this way, being pressed together tightly enough that touch became a feedback loop when they felt the effect of it through each other's bodies.

"I'm ready," Arthur said again, and Eames took a deep breath and pushed into him.

The slide was slow, gentle, tender in a way that no one had ever been with Eames—But Eames wouldn't let that happen to Arthur. This was something far too precious. He whispered words of encouragement into Arthur's ear, soft nonsense as his body slowly opened up. Arthur's brow was furrowed, his breath coming out in little gasps and his mouth slack, but he slowly began to push back. Arthur was velvet around him, liquid, molded against him like they were made for this. Every moan sent thrills down Eames' spine, and he had to restrain himself lest he get carried away. This was something different from anything he'd ever had. This was slow and sensual and burning hot, and somehow infinitely more sexy than anything he'd ever done. Infinitely more right. Arthur let out a little "David, _ohgod_," and Eames felt it all the way through his body to his cock. His own breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his nerves sang like cracking wires, little shocks of pleasure racing from his extremities to his core and back again. Orgasm hit like a freight train. He had to hold onto Arthur for dear life as he rode the waves of it, his breathing slowly evening out to feather across the hairs at the nape of Arthur's neck.

"I... God," was all Eames was able to pant out. His cock was still throbbing inside Arthur's body, but when he moved to pull out, Arthur let out a whine, so he stayed inside him as he slowly went soft. Eames was almost afraid to ask, but since it would be unforgivably discourteous of him not to, he said, "Good?"

Arthur let out a harried laugh that resonated through both their bodies. "Good? Are you serious?" and before Eames had the chance to feel mortified and crawl off to die, he added, "It was more than good. It was fucking _incredible_."

Eames didn't mean to be an egoist, but he couldn't help the warm thrill of pleasure that settled in his chest. "Well, you know." Arthur snorted at that, and it was so adorable that Eames just had to lean in and kiss him behind the ear. "I love you, Arthur. I don't think I can say that enough." Arthur went still and quiet in his arms, attentive like he knew Eames was going somewhere serious with this. Eames thought carefully about his next words before he spoke. "I'm so glad you've decided I'm worth it. I honestly didn't think I was worthy of your time, after what happened, and–"

Arthur cut him off as he pushed his way out of Eames' arms, forcing him to withdraw from his body. For a moment Eames was terrified he'd said something wrong, but Arthur just sat up gingerly and cocked his head at him, looking amused and fond and still sort of blissed-out. "So focused on the past, Eames."

Eames pulled himself up and propped himself on one elbow, eyebrow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Theoretically he knew what Arthur was saying, but the idea of what he was entailing was beyond him. "You can't just forget."

"No," Arthur agreed, "I can't. But you can help me move on." He smiled, leaning in to kiss Eames' forehead. "I can't do this without you. And someday... someday maybe I won't need you for that anymore. But I'll still need you for a boatload of other reasons, namely this one." His lips ghosted lower, down to Eames' own, and brushed a soft kiss into them. "I love you too."

In Eames' opinion, there wasn't a better reason to be needed.

* * *

The years passed. The pictures on the living room wall of their shared apartment told the story; Eames in a graduation robe getting his bachelor's degree. Arthur covered in ribbons and holding up his master's. Arthur and Eames' mothers, toasting each other while their husbands looked on sullenly from the background. A framed Christmas card with a photo on the front showing Ariadne and her fiancé Yusuf making rabbit-ears behind each other's heads. A second framed Christmas card, from last year, this time with Ariadne and Yusuf and Dhara, their newborn baby girl.

Over time, the memory of Arthur's abduction and the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their meeting had faded away. They went out at night for dinner, for parties, for making love under the stars and Arthur never once flinched, and Eames never once had to hold his hand—though sometimes he did anyway. And while what had happened that one fateful night was the furthest thing from either of their minds most of the time, the past wasn't always a bad thing to remember.

Arthur let out a yelp of surprised laughter as Eames came up behind him and wrapped his strong arms around Arthur's middle. "Quit scaring me like that, you jerk," he grinned, and shuddered at Eames' growled "Never" in his ear.

"What are you doing?" Eames asked when he'd finished terrorizing his boyfriend with nimble fingers between the ribs.

Arthur gave one last breathless chuckle and pointed to a new frame at the end of the row of pictures. "I was going through some boxes of stuff and I found that, so I decided to hang it."

Eames stepped closer and peered at the frame, and then his eyes widened. He knew the shape of that worn and folded note like the back of his hand, and he didn't need his glasses to recall what it said.

'_Arthur, why are we not best friends already?_' in Eames loose chicken scratch, followed by Arthur's neat print. '_MAYBE BECAUSE I WANT TO BE MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS._'

"You kept that stupid scrap of paper all this time?" Eames asked quietly, and he felt his face stretch into an uncontrollable smile.

"I kept _you_, didn't I?" Arthur moved in closer, linking their fingers together and butting his head against Eames' as they gazed at the framed note.

"That you did, love. That you did."


End file.
